Not Today
by RPGgirl514
Summary: Detective Ryan learns a lesson the hard way - never, ever, ever go in without backup. Set between seasons 2 and 3.


_A/N: This story takes place between seasons 2 & 3, when Castle is writing in the Hamptons for the summer. I like to think something like this might be one reason why Ryan is so adamant about taking back-up, particularly in 04x22, "Always". Many thanks to __**TXMedic**_ _for her beta of this. Go check out her stories!_

* * *

His phone rang in the cupholder. Ryan swiped the screen to answer and put it on speaker. "Detective Ryan."

"Hey, it's Beckett. Lanie identified the substance on the victim as cyanoacrylate and sodium bicarbonate."

"Superglue and baking soda?"

"Not just superglue - industrial strength superglue," she said. "Mixed with baking soda, it's used as an adhesive filler for light aircraft."

"So we're looking for hangars and places that manufacture or store airplane parts."

Ryan could almost hear her nod over the phone. "We narrowed it down to three warehouses that use the proportions that Lanie found, and have unusual financial transactions in the last six months. Espo linked Anthony Bonner to the one closest to the crime scene. It's at 11th and Lafayette. Tech pinged his phone - he's there right now."

"I'm only about eight blocks away," Ryan said quickly. "I can meet you there."

"Alright, we're on our way. Be careful, Ryan."

Ryan hung up and turned south onto Lafayette.

The drizzle had let up a bit by now, enough to turn off his windshield wipers, and as he neared the corner of 11th Ryan shut off his headlights and cruised to a stop along the curb. He sat in his squad for a moment, taking in the dark windows of the warehouse, looking for any sign of movement and listening through the cracked window for any sound other than the low growl of his squad's idling engine. Ryan shut the car off. Bonner might not even be inside - if he knew they were on to him, he might have planted his phone there and taken off.

Ryan rummaged in the backseat for his vest and pulled it on, velcro-ing it snugly over his torso as he had so many times before. _Safety first,_ he thought wryly. He'd been fortunate over the course of his career; only once had his vest been put to the test by a suspect's bullet - back during his days in Narcotics. His ribs had been sore for a few days, but it was a small price to pay for his life. He'd shaken his captain's hand at the commendation ceremony a month later as they pinned the award bar above his badge. Another of the responding officers that day hadn't been so lucky. The captain had presented his family with a folded flag instead.

Ryan settled back to wait for the others, rubbing the tiredness from his eyes. He'd been at it since six that morning, and now it was well past midnight into the next day. He'd only just left the precinct when Beckett called. Ryan hoped this arrest went quickly and easily so he could get home and get a few hours' sleep before -

A speck of light caught his eye, and he studied the front of the warehouse, looking for the source. There it was again - a bright orange dot flared in the darkness. A cigarette. As his eyes adjusted Ryan recognized the smoker as Bonner. Dressed in dark jeans and jacket, Bonner had blended so well with the exterior wall Ryan hadn't seen him at first. His instincts rattled, the familiar sensation of adrenaline flooding his veins as it always did before an arrest. He had to be ready for anything.

Ryan debated briefly what he should do. It didn't seem like Bonner had spotted him yet, or else didn't recognize him as police. He could wait for Beckett and Esposito. He thought longingly after his bed and sleeping girlfriend - the quicker Bonner was arrested, the sooner Ryan could get home to them. It was _just_ Bonner, after all. Even if he resisted, Ryan could take on one man, and in the worst case, his partners were only minutes away. He made up his mind and stepped out of the car.

"Bonner!" he called. It was almost comical, like an exaggerated scene from a cartoon, slowed to few frames per second. Bonner's mouth opened in surprise, the glowing tip of the cigarette falling, forgotten, to the rain-slicked sidewalk. His eyes flickered down to read the bold white letters - POLICE - emblazoned over Ryan's chest. Then Bonner turned on his heel and sprinted back inside the warehouse.

Ryan cursed and ran after him, drawing his Glock. The warehouse door was ajar, and Ryan kept to the wall as he hurried after the sound of Bonner's fast-retreating footsteps.

"Bonner, this is Detective Ryan with the NYPD. You know why I'm here." He edged along the dark corridor, towards a pair of double doors with circular porthole-style windows. Ryan listened at the doors for a moment before bursting through them, gun up, pointed directly at the heaving chest of Anthony Bonner, whose hands were shaking as he held them high in the air.

They had emerged into the vast warehouse floor itself, lit dimly by minimal emergency lights. The forward half of the room was empty, but the back half was scattered with plastic-wrapped pallets stacked with boxes - primarily small aircraft parts, Ryan guessed. The ceiling here was still low, though it opened to a second story loft entirely glassed-in by windows. From there, one could look out over the entire warehouse floor.

"It's over, Bonner," Ryan said.

"It's not what you think," Bonner said desperately, "please, I can explain -"

Ryan nodded. "You can explain down at the precinct," Ryan said, lowering his gun by a fraction and reaching for his cuffs with his other hand as he stepped forward. "Anthony Bonner, you are under arrest for the murder of -"

The blow came from behind, crashing into the side of Ryan's face and sending him staggering sideways. He recovered quickly, half-turning to meet his assailant as his gun was knocked out of his hand. It skittered across the cement floor. Ryan brought up his arms to protect his head, backing up to keep some measure of protection between them. In a matter of seconds he felt a sharp, tearing pain in his left side, then a similar pain in his right leg. Ryan stumbled and went down.

He looked up as his attacker crouched beside him with a sickening smile. "Surprise," he said softly.

"You," Ryan gasped, and even that single syllable sent a hot flare of pain radiating through his side.

"Me," the man agreed, a pistol held casually in his hand as he braced his elbows on his knees. He was still wearing his shirt and tie from the conference he had come from. His nameplate glinted down accusingly at Ryan. _Howard Lake, CEO._ How could they have missed his involvement? All this time, Lake had been playing the victim, when in fact he was the mastermind behind it all. _Of course_ a supply clerk like Bonner couldn't have pulled off an operation of this magnitude alone, no matter how many connections he had . . .

The world went fuzzy. His thigh burned where the knife still protruded from it. Ryan heard sirens in the distance - help was coming. It seemed Bonner and Lake heard them too, because they both froze. Lake was still crouched beside Ryan. He reached for the knife.

"Forget the cop, Lake!" Bonner snapped. "Go get the files. Follow the plan!"

Lake glared over his shoulder. "Don't forget who made you, Bonner. If it weren't for me you'd still be botching convenience-store robberies and sleeping in your car."

Ryan felt Lake rise and heard hurried footsteps as Lake climbed the stairs to the windowed office that looked out over the warehouse floor. Bonner fidgeted a few feet away, gun still pointed at Ryan.

"If you're going to shoot me," he said, "just shoot me."

Bonner laughed nervously. "Killing a cop's more trouble than it's worth."

"Does Lake think that too?"

Bonner didn't answer as he glanced up at the office again. Ryan couldn't see anything from his vantage point on the cement floor, but Bonner's anxiety was palpable. "What's taking him so long?"

Ryan tried to stay calm and breathe, but his chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself. With every breath he felt a sharp pain where the knife had slipped through the seam of his vest. He tasted the tang of blood in the back of his throat. _Punctured lung, probably . . ._

"Come on, Bonner," Ryan panted. "You can still get out of this. We know you and Lake were in on the embezzlement together. We know you were there during the murder. If you didn't pull the trigger, if it was Lake, all you've got to do is say so, and the DA could cut a deal with you on the embezzlement charges."

Bonner's hand shook. Ryan tried to focus on the wavering snub-nosed barrel of the gun. His eyes flickered longingly to his own pistol a few yards away.

"I can help you," Ryan tried again. "It's obvious you're scared of him; I can protect you -"

"Shut up, SHUT UP!" Bonner shouted. "You don't know what the hell you're talking about!"

Ryan stopped talking and focused on breathing. Help was coming; all he had to do now was not get shot.

Heavy steps clattered down the metal stairwell again, and Lake reappeared with a file box. The gun and the box changed hands.

"Let's go, before the rest of them get here," Lake said.

"What about this one?"

"Leave him," Lake said, and both men left the warehouse floor, headed toward the rear of the building.

Ryan drew himself up to a sitting position with his back against the wall, and felt like he'd run a marathon. He had been through training for this; he knew what he was supposed to do. So why was it so hard to move? He pressed against the wound with his hand, sending a fresh wave of pain spiking through his chest.

He was going to die here, in this godforsaken warehouse, and both Bonner and Lake were going to get away. Ryan gritted his teeth against the pain, and struggled to stay conscious. He concentrated on Jenny in his mind's eye, his sweet Jenny - he thought of the way her cheeks plumped up when she smiled, and how the corners of her eyes crinkled, and how self-conscious she was about those adorable little dimples on her -

The rusted door to the warehouse flew open, a deafening clang echoing through the warehouse as booted feet shuffled in. Ryan heard their muffled shouts down the corridor - "NYPD! NYPD!" - and he'd never felt so relieved.

"Spread out! Take quadrants!"

"Clear!"

"Clear!"

"Ryan!" Boots thudded toward him. He felt fingers prodding his neck, checking for a pulse. A barely audible sigh of relief. "Don't get up on my account."

"Javi," he said weakly. This was _important_ , dammit. "Javi, they went out the back."

Esposito straightened up. "Beckett, he's out back!"

"On it! Get Ryan!" And then she was gone, the _click-click-click_ of her heeled shoes against the cement floor echoing as she went. Esposito crouched down again beside his wounded partner, taking stock of his injuries.

"Javi," he said urgently. "There's two. There's _two_."

"Two what?"

"Two suspects . . . Lake . . ." Ryan wracked his brain. If they were cornered, Lake would let Bonner take the fall for him, since the only one who knew otherwise was Ryan. But then he'd have to hide . . . "Fire escape. He went back up. In the office."

Esposito reached for his radio. Before he could call it in, a shot rang out and glass shattered above them. Esposito covered his head and threw himself over his partner, shielding Ryan from the worst of it. He drew his weapon as it cleared and aimed above him, barking orders to the rest of the officers in the warehouse before looking back at Ryan.

Ryan pointed across the floor. "My gun."

"Got it." Esposito kept his own weapon trained on the office above him, even as Lake faced off against the SWAT officers on the stairs. They hadn't breached the office yet; from what Esposito could see, Lake had muscled some of the office furniture up against the door. Without taking his eyes or his gun off the office window, Esposito retrieved Ryan's lost service weapon and returned to his partner's side.

Esposito slung Ryan's arm over his shoulders, bracing his partner's injured side against him. His fingers dug into the other side of Ryan's vest, pulling him up. Ryan's leg buckled beneath him. He slumped against Esposito.

"I gotta get you out of here, man. Think you can walk?"

"I can walk," he gasped. He made a 'gimme' gesture. "Gun."

"Here." Esposito threaded Ryan's free hand around the grip. It dangled at his side, his index finger looped loosely around the trigger. They moved slowly, using the wall to cover their flank, ducking behind crates of aircraft parts. Lake took another shot at them as they moved between two pallets. Esposito grunted and stumbled into Ryan, sending them both hard up against the plastic wrapped boxes. Ryan groaned in pain. Esposito dragged him around the corner of the pallet, where they paused to catch their breath. Then he heard SWAT breach the door.

"Drop the gun! Drop the gun! Let me see your hands!"

"On the ground, now!"

Esposito and Ryan grinned weakly at each other. _All in a day's work._ Static crackled through Esposito's radio.

"We got Bonner," Beckett said, followed by another burst of static.

Esposito keyed up the mic with his free hand. "I've got Ryan. He's hurt."

"EMS is on the way. I'll meet you out front."

"Copy." Esposito clipped the radio back onto the lip of his pocket and hooked his hand on the front of Ryan's vest to better support the other man's weight. "The hell were you thinking, going in by yourself?"

Ryan gave a ragged sigh. "I had him, Javi."

Esposito snorted. "Yeah, I can see that."

"Can we not do this now?"

"Yeah, alright," Esposito said, but his tone said _this isn't over._

Ryan groaned. He felt himself fading into unconsciousness and struggled against it. He had to talk, had to stay awake. The silence would kill him. "Hey, Javi," he said. "Thanks for getting me out."

He felt Esposito shrug. "You're my partner."

"No, really," he insisted, his eyes closed. His eyelids felt so heavy . . .

"Hey." Ryan felt Esposito shake him lightly, and he met the fear in his partner's dark eyes with some trepidation. "Stay awake."

"You . . . alright? Not hurt?" Ryan felt lightheaded, like he was a little drunk.

Esposito could feel the throb beginning in his side, and knew when he took his own vest off he'd have hell to answer for, but Ryan didn't need to know that. "Not a scratch."

"You could have died . . ."

Esposito's breath hitched, then evened out so quickly Ryan thought he must have imagined it. "Hey, you know I'd die for you, bro. Just not today."

Ryan shook his head slightly. That's not what he'd meant; he tried to tell Esposito that, but then the ambulance arrived.

He faded in and out of consciousness, but he did remember Esposito helping him into the ambulance. There were too many hands to count, and one of them put a mask over his nose and mouth. _Finally,_ Ryan thought, _I can sleep._

Once Ryan had drifted off, Esposito let out a breath and hopped down out of the ambulance. Methodically, as he did every night in the locker room, he undid the Velcro straps of his vest and lifted the hem of his white T-shirt. Angry blotches had already begun to bloom like dark ink spilled over his ribcage, just under his shoulder blade. He braced himself against the side of the ambulance with one hand, forcing himself to take shallow breaths.

"Espo, what the hell?" He heard Beckett's footsteps crunching through the gravel. Esposito tugged his shirt down hastily and turned to meet her accusing gaze.

"Nothing," he said. She picked up his discarded vest, fingering the misshapen slug embedded in the shell.

"Get in the ambulance," she said.

"I'll get checked out later. Ryan -"

"-is getting the help he needs, which is more than I can say for you," Beckett interrupted.

Esposito had half a mind to argue. "You know, you're a lot more uptight with Castle gone."

Her eyes flashed and her lips thinned. "Get in the ambulance." Each word was bitten off, and Esposito knew his words had hit their mark. He didn't even feel bad. Esposito climbed into the ambulance after Ryan, and Beckett shut the door on them both.

It was unreasonable to be mad at Beckett, but he had to be mad at someone. How could one day go entirely to shit in just an hour? His partner had been _stabbed_ , he himself had been _shot_ (again, though it never got any easier), and who the hell knew about Bonner and Lake.

He pushed the thought away. He'd been a soldier once, now he was a cop; Esposito was no stranger to focusing on the task at hand, putting away idle thoughts for later (or never, in some cases). He groaned as a pretty female paramedic with a brunette ponytail lifted his shirt and examined his ribs. To distract himself, Esposito fixed his eyes on the semi-conscious man lying before him. His partner, Kevin Ryan, always ready with a quip or one of his maddening catchphrases - _hey, so_ or _get this_ \- lay there breathing shallowly, the metallic scent of his blood permeating the ambulance.

"Hey, so, am I gonna make it?" Ryan opened his eyes briefly, trying to smile. His teeth were smeared red.

Esposito smiled back. "Might need a face transplant for that ugly mug of yours, but I think you'll live," he joked.

Ryan made a weak choking noise that might have been a laugh, but he was quickly shushed by the other paramedic. His eyes slid closed again.

"He will live, right?" Esposito said quietly to the brunette.

"He'll be fine," she said. "And we'll get _you_ some painkillers; looks like you've got a cracked rib, nothing more."

"Hear that, Kev? You're gonna be fine." Ryan didn't respond. Esposito hoped the words had more truth to them than a medical professional's generic platitude, and gritted his teeth against the pain.

* * *

The room was too white. Ryan heard a soft repetitive beep above him to his left. It was strangely reassuring. Light streamed in through the blinds, illuminating the white bedcovers with slatted beams. He thought he was alone, until he heard a rumble as Esposito cleared his throat.

"Hey, bro," he said. He was favoring one side, leaning against the wall for support a few feet away.

"I'm in the hospital," Ryan said. His mouth felt like cotton, and his head felt like March 18th. "Is Jenny here?"

"Downstairs, getting a sandwich," Esposito said. He smirked. "She's gonna be pissed you woke up on my watch; I've only been here ten minutes."

"What happened? I remember . . . the warehouse . . . I got stabbed, I think . . . You got me out . . ."

Esposito opened his mouth to fill in the blanks in his partner's memory, but before he could say a word, Jenny burst through the door with a shriek.

"You're awake!" she cried, rushing to his side. She seemed ready to throw herself into his arms, but thought better of it, instead squeezing one of his hands in both of hers, mindful of his IV.

"I'll be back later," Esposito mouthed, edging out of the room. He let the door click shut behind him and leaned against the wall, breathing shallowly around the ache in his ribs.

"Hey." Esposito turned at the sound of Beckett's voice. "How is he?"

"Alive," he said. What else could he say? It was a mark of how well he and Beckett understood each other that she didn't ask for details.

The glass door slid open, and Jenny stepped out. Her eyes held Esposito's, only a shade or two paler than her boyfriend's but just as arresting. She paused, biting her bottom lip, then launched herself at Esposito. Caught by surprise, he staggered backwards into the window with a grunt of pain as his tender ribs protested. Esposito glowered at Beckett over Jenny's shoulder through a faceful of blonde hair. The other detective had bitten her lip to stifle laughter.

"Kevin told me how you got him out just in time," Jenny said, her voice muffled into his shoulder. Finally, she disentangled herself from him and took a step backward, sniffing as she looked between Beckett and Esposito and tried not to cry. "I couldn't ask for better partners to watch out for Kevin than the two of you. Thank you. Thank you." She smiled - even without make-up, running on coffee and no sleep, she still was beautiful. Esposito wondered how his partner had snagged a woman like Jenny - but he knew Jenny probably loved the same things he did about Ryan. In a manly, non-sexual way, of course. Plus, he was pretty sure Jenny didn't give a shit how good at Madden Ryan was.

"Always." Beckett smiled back, though hers was tinged with a sadness Esposito couldn't place. Then it was gone, and she was all detective again. "Listen, Jenny, Espo and I need to talk to Ryan."

"Cop stuff," Esposito added. "You understand."

"Of course," Jenny said. "I'll just go freshen up." She headed down the hallway to the ladies' room.

Ryan was a bit more coherent now that he'd had a drink of water and some time to wake up, but he was still groggy from his pain medication.

"You should see the other guy," Ryan said. Esposito and Beckett laughed, even though it wasn't funny, and it cleared a little of the tension.

"So did we get him?"

Beckett and Esposito glanced at each other. "No," Beckett said. "I caught Bonner out back, but Lake's in the wind. He must have slipped out the roof hatch before SWAT got through the door." Her voice was as strong and clear as if she were back in the precinct conference room, assuring a victim's family that she would do everything in her power to find their loved one's killer.

Ryan's face fell like a little boy who hadn't gotten the action figure he wanted for Christmas. He sat forward, even though it clearly pained him, his bright eyes searching Esposito's. "Did you -"

"Flag his accounts?" Esposito smiled. "I got it covered, bro. We put his picture out on a BOLO for every transit hub from here to D.C. His face was on every major news network. If he rabbits, we'll know."

Beckett laid a hand on Ryan's arm. "You can't win them all, Kevin." Her phone vibrated, just in time to prevent the moment from getting maudlin. "It's Montgomery," she said, excusing herself.

The two partners were left alone.

"You took a bullet for me," Ryan said quietly. "Javi -"

"You'd do the same for me," Esposito interrupted. His throat was dry, and his didn't want to think about why, so instead he just grinned. "Till the wheels fall off; isn't that what you said?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I said that." Ryan held out his hand. The tape over the IV needle wrinkled. "Partners?"

"Always, bro."


End file.
